


Phoenix

by RPGgirl514



Series: fenris from the ashes [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Enemies to Friends, F/M, On the Run, Post-Game(s), Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4834832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RPGgirl514/pseuds/RPGgirl514
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merrill reflects on how much her view of the world has changed since she met Fenris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phoenix

Dawn peeked over the horizon, flooding the plain with pale rosy light. Two elves were seated before a campfire, hunched over to better draw in its warmth. The Free Marches had been unseasonably cold as of late. Merrill thought perhaps that the political upheaval in the city might have thrown off the balance of things, but that was silly.

Merrill chanced a look at the warrior beside her. He wore a dark cloak pulled up to hide his distinctive tattoos, but she had seen him so often for the past eight years that she knew his face by heart. Not that she liked him, of course; she didn't really like him at all. They never would have met had it not been for Hawke, Merrill mused, and it was mutual dislike for the woman that bound them together now. Fenris' forearms rested on his knees, his calloused hands folded loosely in front of him. Merrill found her eyes lingering on the black dots tattooed on each knuckle and the graceful whorls that patterned the back of his hands.

Merrill and Fenris had been on the run through the Free Marches for a fortnight, moving only under cover of darkness to avoid templars and others who might wish harm on former associates of the Champion of Kirkwall. Two weeks prior, Hawke and her lover had blown up the Chantry and plunged the city into chaos.

Oh, Hawke had played dumb, of course; what else could she do in front of the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter? (And a fat lot of good that did her in the end anyway.)  But Hawke had helped Anders gather the materials for the explosion. She had even distracted the Grand Cleric while Anders planted the bomb. Merrill knew she was often slow to catch on, but no one would ever convince her that Hawke had not known what Anders was up to.

Once upon a time, Merrill had thought she and Hawke would become good friends. They were both mages, after all, and mages stuck together, right? But years of companionship had proved her wrong. As Anders and Hawke grew closer, Merrill was left behind more and more often when a job came up. Merrill had confronted her about it once, but Hawke had dismissed her indignant questions with a wave of her hand and a vague remark about party balance, ignoring Merrill's dismay. It was true, Hawke had helped her out with her clan and the Eluvian, but Hawke had been just as close-minded as the Keeper when it came to blood magic. Merrill had always known the risks and weighed them against the potential gains. It had always evened out. Until that day on Sundermount.

Merrill's eyes grew hot with tears, and she blinked them away. Funny how easy it had become to hide her emotions. No need for Fenris to see her weakness, not when he already thought her unbearably weak. She, on the other hand, thought him anything but weak. He was the strongest person she knew.

He hated her for what she was and for the path she had chosen to make for herself, but she admired him for that. Merrill knew Fenris had endured pain beyond her greatest imaginings, and yet he sat here beside her, still mostly whole. Keeper Marethari had always said that broken things, once mended, were strongest at the broken places. Merrill thought she knew now what that meant. Fenris had risen from the ashes of his life as a slave to become a phoenix. Metaphorically, of course.

Merrill had first met Fenris on Sundermount. Asha'bellanar had looked upon the former slave and seen right through him. _The chains are broken,_ she had said, _but are you truly free?_ Merrill had known little about him then, only that he disapproved of blood magic and found her foolish for using it. In the years that followed, she hadn't discovered much more than that, but she had realized that his hatred of mages was his way of keeping his secrets close. Like a wolf, after which Fenris was aptly named, he lashed out in pain and anger to protect himself.

If she was being honest with herself, she did the same thing, when cornered. When she and Fenris had traveled together in the past, he always had a knack for brutal honesty. And after so many years, Merrill was starting to realize he was right. Even Marethari's life, laid down for hers, had not humbled her, a point Fenris had brought up soon after the debacle on Sundermount. His apology had been sincere, but she had railed against him anyway, and in true Fenris fashion, he had returned in kind.

It had taken the horror of First Enchanter Orsino turning into a Harvester to open Merrill's eyes. She finally realized what Fenris, Marethari, Hawke and even Asha'bellanar had been trying to tell her all these years. _No path is darker than when your eyes are shut._

She had said, “Ma serannas,” without really thinking about it. A platitude expected and freely given.

Orsino's blood magic had been the straw that broke the halla's back. How was her own magic so different? She, too, could become just as corrupted. She could die alone in a cave, possessed by hubris, just as Marethari had. Her own arrogance was to blame for the deaths of her entire clan. The realization that it was all her fault was overwhelming. She had fled once the battle was over, unable to face Hawke in her shame.

Merrill had left Kirkwall, wandering the Wounded Coast until a light drizzle began to fall. She relished the softness of the rain on her face and arms, took it as proof the Creators did not hate her, that she was being given a second chance. Eventually, she took shelter in a cave, and found she was not alone. She and Fenris had traveled together ever since.

It had been a close thing. It was by Hawke's mercy that either of them were alive, regardless of how they both felt about the mage now. Hawke's bleeding heart had stayed her hand in the Gallows when Fenris stood against her. Merrill, ever the pacifist, had held her breath so long it hurt as Fenris and Hawke sparred in the center of the courtyard. Hawke shot spells to wound, but Fenris fought to kill. Years of pent-up rage and frustration with the Champion came out in combat. Every shouting match in Fenris' derelict mansion, every bottle of wine smashed against the wall, every furious debate over might and magic, was thrown down like a gauntlet as they sparred.

The other companions stood back and watched. Merrill wondered who they hoped to win. Varric and Aveline would stand by Hawke, of course, no matter what she did, as would Anders. Merrill considered the two combatants. She disliked both of them, but she would hate to see either fall. It was only as Hawke commanded an invisible force that slammed Fenris into the hard cobblestones that Merrill made her decision. She respected Fenris far more than she respected Hawke, and if she had to choose, she chose him. Merrill stuffed her fingers in her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

Fenris got up on his knees, his great sword still grasped in one hand but pointing harmlessly away. His mouth was smeared with blood, and his tattoos glowed faintly in the red twilight. Hawke's staff was at his throat, both hands gripping the shaft, ready to strike. At this range, Hawke wouldn't need magic to take his head off.

“Yield, Fenris,” Hawke said. “Walk away with your life.”

Merrill shook her head. She knew he would never take the deal, for what was Fenris without dignity? He didn't speak, just glared up at Hawke, his chest heaving with labored breath. He was wounded, but Merrill had fought beside him long enough to know that's when he was at his best. His eyes challenged her. _Go ahead,_ they seemed to say. _Go ahead and kill me. If you can._

What Merrill witnessed next had left her trembling. Hawke's lip twisted, and with a sharp slash of her hand, Fenris was engulfed in flames. Merrill screamed, and Hawke glanced over at her. When she looked back, the flames had been quenched by the glow of white-hot lyrium. Fenris flared so bright Merrill closed her eyes and could still see the glow through her eyelids. It was Aveline's shocked gasp that made her open her eyes, and she nearly didn't recognize the elf who had taken Fenris' place. His once stark-white hair had turned as flat black as pitch, and his pale tattoos were now as dark as demon ichor, so dark they seemed to suck in ambient light and absorb it into their blackness.

The silence in the courtyard was so loud and absolute Merrill's ears rang. Finally, Hawke had spoken, but no one else mentioned what had just happened. Merrill wondered later if it was awe or fear that held their tongues.

“I don't want to kill you, Fenris,” Hawke had sighed, relenting. “I know we've never seen eye to eye, but I never wanted it to end like this. Walk away, and we will never meet again. I give you my word.” She lowered her staff and walked out of the courtyard with cool confidence that she would not be pursued by the elf she had once called her friend. Without a word, Aveline, Varric, and Anders followed. Merrill whimpered, her eyes fixed on Fenris. He turned his venom on her.

“Fenris –” Merrill had started.

“Go save your stupid mages,” he had snarled, struggling to his feet and limping away, the tip of his sword dragging on the ground, the whisper of steel on stone fading away as he had disappeared from sight with alarming finality.

Merrill had never expected to see him again, and the thought had left her strangely lonely. Fenris disliked her, she knew, but somehow he was the only one who had ever understood her. Now here they were, together, and Merrill wasn't sure what to make of it all. Despite his appearance, Fenris was the same dour soul he had always been, sullen and aloof, but she had changed. No longer did she fill the space between them with inane chatter. She was quiet more often now, lost in her memories, spending too much of her time staring into the void left in her heart from the blood magic she had sworn to give up. Merrill thought Fenris had noticed the change in her. Perhaps that was why he deigned to travel with her.

“Merrill,” said Fenris. From his impatient tone, he had been trying to get her attention for several minutes. “I will take first watch.”

“Right,” she said, flushing. She wrapped herself in her cloak, studying his tense form hunched beside the fire as she pretended to sleep.


End file.
